Soror Spontanea
by yetti
Summary: Dean meets a girl in a bar. Pretty normal so far. Only she knows him, and he doesn't know her. That could be normal, maybe he was drunk last time. Only she is not his type AT ALL because she seems to think they're related. That's as far from normal as you can get... for Supernatural, at least.


**Soror Spontanea: Chapter One**

It was a fine ass indeed.

Dean sat at on a bar stool, slightly intoxicated… okay, really very intoxicated. He'd been drinking with an old 'colleague', a Hunter he'd run a few gigs with back when his dad was still calling the shots. The guy was nice and all, though not the brightest bulb in the bunch, and they'd talked "the good old days" for hours over many a few beers, but he was married with a couple of rugrats, apparently, so he'd bailed and left Dean alone in the bar, staring at some waitress' ass.

And, as he'd previously noted, it was a very fine ass.

Now, what he did next, Dean was not proud of, but, hey, it happened, so let's just go with it: a slurred, "Hey, gorgeous," was accompanied by a misaimed hand on the lower back that ended up being more of a slap/pinch on the ass.

Her head whipped around so quickly that the dark braid that trailed from the back of her head and around the side of her neck, tickling her cleavage, flicked out and caught Dean directly in his intoxicated eyeball.

Dean was so busy cussing and rubbing away the reflexive tears from his eye, that he was paying no attention whatsoever to the girl, who seemed to know him.

"What the hell, Dean? So not fucking funny!" She snatched up his arm, distracting him briefly from his eye-rubbing. "It was skeevy at best."

He squinted at her. She was younger than he'd previously estimated, probably only just old enough to work at the bar, but she was fucking beautiful. Her braid had settled back in its place, its loose tendrils framing her perfect face. A smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks gave her a youthful look, but she had these twinkling hazel eyes outlined with fuzzy eyeliner, and – even in his drunken state – Dean could see the trouble hidden beneath the smirk that tugged at the corner of her pink lips.

Despite her obvious beauty, and Dean's usual lack of sense of propriety, she seemed too young for him, partnered with far too much work, making her the furthest from one of his usual targets. But apparently, she already knew him…

"I'm sorry," Dean started, unusually polite, "But _who_ exactly are you?"

The girl rolled her eyes, the shock of seeing him replaced with irritation. Okay, so she probably did know him… but how?

"Ha fucking ha." She flicked the rag that she'd been using to wipe a table down, before he came over and assaulted her, over her shoulder, then shuddered violently. "I can't believe you just did that!"

Dean stared at the girl. Nothing about her was ringing any bells, but he was really drunk.

"Ok, you're really going to have to tell me who you are."

The chick groaned. "I don't know exactly what you're trying to play here…" she frowned, "Or how you _found_ me, but could you just go? I don't know what Mom told you but I'm fine. She's just fearmongering, as usual."

Dean sighed. This chick was not getting what he was saying. "Why would I care what your mom said? Do I know her?" A dreadful thought crossed his mind. "Wait, I'm not your… Holy shit, I'm your dad aren't I?" How had he forgotten that he had an illegitimate daughter? And then _groped_ her?!

She glared at him for a moment, before a realisation crossed her face. "Oh my god, you really don't recognise me! What happened?" Immediately, concern washed any previous annoyance from her features. "I should have known something was wrong as soon as I saw that you weren't wearing a tie. I just thought you were trying to be relatable or something." She was fussing about him as she talked, sitting him down and checking his forehead with the back of her hand. "Wait, is this all just because you're really drunk? How long have you been drinking? Dean, you know you can't handle your alcohol." She scolded, not letting him get a word in edgeways.

"Hold on, stop, stop!" Dean waved her away from touching his face, making her take a step back with a frown. "You still haven't explained to me exactly who you are."

"Okay, Dean." She spoke slowly, as if to a child. "My name is Amy. I'm your sister. Is any of this ringing any kinds of bells?"

With his lips pressed firmly together, Dean nodded slowly, then his eyes rolled back and he fell off of his stool, the entire world turning black around him.

Oh, shit! He was _fainting_! Well, this was embarrassing.

* * *

He woke up stone-cold sober, so with a massive headache. Many years of getting blackout drunk had prepared him for moments like this, so he sucked it up and tried to remember how he had gotten to where he was. Bar, booze, butt… Sister?

Dream or reality, dream or reality… A quick glance around the motel room answered his question with a resounding "Good morning, douchebag. Remember me yet?" directed right in his very hungover face, making him wince.

Carefully, Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows, testing his morning-after arms, and then spun his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.

After overcoming the urge to vomit, he answered. "Amy, right?"

She snorted. "Congratulations, brother. I did not know that you had the capacity to drink that much booze and not die of some sort of poisoning, like alcohol, or, ya know, fun. And look at that recovery. Bravo." She paused in her pacing around the room to tip an imaginary hat at Dean as he finally managed to settle himself on two feet.

She didn't seem to be able to sit still, fiddling with the remote control, lining it up with the corner of the desk, fanning out the pamphlets for nearby attractions so that they were at equal angles from each other, constantly moving.

She continued, oblivious to Dean's evaluation. "I mean, forgetting your sister, that's not something one does easily, even if you have been _trying_ to do exactly that for most of my life. That takes some serious drinking, so you must have been _pounding_ them back last night…"

While she'd been distracting herself by talking insistently, Dean had subtly removed the silver knife he'd hid under the mattress from its sheath. Whatever this thing was, because it certainly wasn't his sister, was either really stupid if it thought he was falling for any of this, or it was totally unconcerned to have a Hunter sneaking up behind it with a cacophony of weapons at his disposal.

Hopefully the first, because he really was hoping he could just kill it and then get back to sleeping off his hangover.

"…So, yeah, you can pretty much leave, cause, as you can see, I'm fine here. A little broke, so if you have any money, I _would_ take it, but – judging by this motel – I would guess not. What happened? Lose your job?" She actually paused for him to answer, finally.

When he remained silent, she went to turn to face him, but Dean was too fast. He had his knife pressed up against the base of her slim throat, gripping her arm firmly. She screamed, her eyes bugging out of her head while she tried to catch a glimpse of what he was doing. Without loosening his grip, he leaned around her shoulder to see where the knife was flush against her skin and let the metal slice into it, releasing a few droplets of blood.

She screamed in pain, but there was no tell-tale hiss, and the scream was more of a sob than a noise made in frustration. That ruled out a whole number of things… Next it would have to be the holy water, but that was in his jacket, which 'Amy' had kindly hung up on the chair by the desk.

As he shuffled her over there, he tried to ignore her pleas. "Dean, what are you doing? Let go! Dean, I don't understand! Dean, I–" She snarled – though nothing inhuman, it was still slightly intimidating. "Dean, STOP! LET. ME. GO." Her nostrils flared to a point that would have been humorous if Dean wasn't about to try and gank her.

"Look, _Amy_ ," he put enough inflection into the name she'd given him to show her how much he doubted that was her name. "I don't care what you are, but if you could shut up while I figure it out, or – better yet – just tell me so I can get on with killing you, that would be awesome."

"What are you talking about?" She sounded exasperated, her desperate fear fading with her increase in confusion. "Have you, like, totally lost it?"

Dean spun her out so that she was stood facing him, in front of him, placing his body between her and the door. He flicked the safety off on the gun that he'd pulled out of the inside pocket of his jacket and pointed it at her.

She gasped, her hand covering her mouth so that all he could see were her big, round eyes, staring at him innocently. She was an idiot if she thought she could get by him with a puppy-dog look. He knew there was a monster lurking beneath the surface of those hazel eyes… even if the hazel did look exactly like the colour both he and his brother shared…

"You have a gun?" She whispered, staring into the gun's one eye instead of Dean's two. "Dean…" The way she said his name, with such familiarity, and something like… pity… it threw Dean a little. "You vote Democrats every year purely for their gun control laws…"

"Hey," He pointed an angry finger at her. "I _have_ never, and _will_ never vote."

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. Neither spoke as the two sized each other up.

Finally, with a sudden outburst, Amy broke the silence. "You're a twin? Like, an evil, long-lost twin? Is your name even _Dean_?"

"Of course my name is Dean, I'm the only Dean!" Dean replied, outraged that this monster was accusing him of being the evil one. "Like your name is even _Amy_!"

She gasped. "What exactly is wrong with the name Amy? Is this just because Sam chose it? Is this because you know I like Sam better, because you know I only say that to fuck with you, right?"

With a grimace, Dean raised his gun from where he'd inadvertently lowered it. "You know about Sam?"

Amy's nostrils flared violently, he voice coming out like a whip. " _Of course I know about Sam he's my fucking brother, just like you, you fucking moron!_ "

Dean glared at her, but there was no power behind it. Damn it, he knew better than to be fooled by this. He knew better than to let a monster, the things he had fought for his entire life, get into his head.

With an angry sigh (the anger directed at himself more than Amy), he pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped it open, pressing 1 to speed dial Sam. He was working across country with Bobby, trying to find some weapon that was supposed to kill the Devil. None of them were particularly hopeful about it, but anything was worth a shot at this point.

He picked up after three rings.

"Dean? What's up?" His surprise was probably because Dean had drunk-dialled him a couple of times last night, and Sam knew him well enough to know that – after a night like last night, with the case in town finished – he would have slept for a lot longer.

"Sammy." Ignoring Amy's claim that 'he hates being called Sammy, Dean, you know that', he asked plain and simple. "Do we have a sister?"

"Um, no, Dean, we don't have a sister… Why?" Came the reply, and damn it, if Dean wasn't a tiny bit disappointed.

Admittedly, had Sam replied yes, Dean would have jumped to the conclusion that he was in some sort of Djinn mind fuck, but still. It would have been nice to have a make-believe sister for a little bit.

"Never mind, just dealing with something here." Dean hung up before Sam could nag him about something.

"Guess you're out of luck, sis." Dean aimed the gun at the girl's head, grinding his teeth in an attempt to drown out her quiet, confused sobs.

Pulling at the trigger, he waited for the inevitable shot to ring true, but, before that happened, a certain trenchcoat with wings appeared in line with where the bullet was headed, his hands held up in the universal 'stop' signal.

Hissing, Dean lowered the gun. "Cas, I nearly shot you in the head!"

Meanwhile, Amy was freaking out about Castiel's sudden arrival. "HOLY FUCKING SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY FUCKING FUCK SHIT FUCK!"

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed. "I do not see why that would have mattered, it would not have killed me."

Amy continued, determined to draw attention to Castiel's unusual entrance. "No, no, he just appeared out of NOWHERE! That is _not_ normal!"

Dean and Castiel continued, determined to ignore Amy's determined cries for attention. "Why are you in my way, Cas?"

Casitel lowered his arms, steeling himself in the matter-of-fact way only Angels can. "Dean, she _is_ your sister."

Dean blinked. "Say what now?"

"Are we just ignoring that fact that he appeared out of nowhere? Because he appeared out of nowhere."

"She is your sister." Castiel repeated.

"I heard you, Cas," Dean said, rolling his eyes, "How is that possible?"

"Am I high? Is that what's going on?" Amy was fully aware that she was talking to herself now.

Castiel frowned. "It is very complicated. Probably too complicated for a human to comprehend."

Rubbing his forehead, gun official lowered, Dean sighed again. "Awesome, Cas, so you're saying I'm too stupid to get why I now have a sister, so I should just accept it?"

Castiel nodded proudly, once again misinterpreting the sarcasm that so regularly laced Dean's tone. "That is exactly what I'm saying."

Amy stared at the pair of men in front of her. "This has to be the weirdest trip ever."


End file.
